What is this world? It is made up of unimaginably small atoms, or so I have heard. I myself have never seen them, so I must go on my teachers' word, and some fascinating pictures that we as human beings have made. It is made of people, it is made of things that fly around or slither or crawl, it is made of stone, and dirt, and water. Things and animals great and small: with people, in figuring how tall they stand, we use a different measuring stick. It is made of shapes, and light, and sounds, and textures, and scents both haunting and vile. This world is all these things, all things mighty and weak, all things noble and petty, even all the things we have forgotten, even all the things we will never see.
This world: I think from what I have experienced in my years that it matters not if you feel you belong or if you have been a misfit all your life. I have been both, and though I have changed some in my time, I have always been me. If you care to explore, you may find that there is a place for you here, somewhere, if you would only step out your door, if you only take one step out of yourself, out of all the extensions yourself you have surrounded yourself with. (And I know a little, too, about not even belonging when you are surrounded only with yourself.) Remember, brave new worlds begin with small adventures. Take a chance, because all you have to lose is a life not worth living.
